#can’t be RPF if it’s coming straight from the source

[marisatomay]

every few months there’s a new rumor that tom cruise is dating one of his (not even single) female costars presumably to throw everyone off the fact that he and his “creative partner” of nearly 20 years live together

[formulatrash]

What are your thoughts on fanfic writing in the f1 fandom? I am pretty sure I saw you tweet about it at some point something small but I was too scared to interact with you on it over at twitter :D

So, this is a hotter topic than I’d really like it to be on my Tumblr and it’s my own fault but. Here we go.

RPF has some questionable ethics and some even more questionable origins. I’m ancient enough that it just used to get straight-up published as a ‘5 minute fantasy’ in young women and girls’ magazines where you’d get like, some 15 year old’s daydream about meeting a boyband member on holiday and falling in love and this was for some reason just treated as an absolutely normal bit of publishing not like ‘what the hell, that would be illegal’ and ‘why is this the fantasy we are encouraging girls to have as an ambition when it comes to sports or even pop success’ and y’know. 

Anyway, the 90s: really can’t emphasise enough how fucking weird having only a few sources to get your media from makes them.

Back to RPF; its roots are in political obscenity, if you want to talk about the bawdy stuff. The French Revolution, in particularly, wrote lots of erotica (the kinkier the better) about the royal family as part of refusing to acknowledge their divine rights under the church. It was an anarchical refusal to accept the situation as it was and to undermine it. 

Beyond that you’ve got historical fiction - Thucydides was all about working up a really good narrative take* on the Peloponnesian war back in the fifth century BC. Extra scenes, big dialogue, you know. If he’d known about self-lubricating buttholes then you BET Herodotus would have put them in the Histories.

Point is: writing fiction about real people isn’t really that weird, Shakespeare did a load of it. But we tend to problematise RPF and consider it strange, even amongst fanfiction.

Now, to 21st century sports and specifically F1. We speak here on Tumblr dot com, the audience where F1 fans skew most largely LGBT, non-cis and female or non binary rather than every other platform which is full of cis het men. Here is where we talk about fanfic. Because they don’t know we’re here, I assume, is the logic.

(they kinda don’t, to be fair)

Most of us do not see ourselves in sports. Most sports media is not aimed at the way that a lot of us were socialised to engage with stuff and most of us - lucky buggers like me aside - do not get to write the narratives of the way sport is engaged with or talked about or who does it. 

A lot of us who live here on god’s abandoned internet have drifted in and out of fandoms and a lot of that will have involved engaging with fanfiction. Fanfiction is a really fun sandbox to play in, as an adult - we get told to stop playing, as we grow up and it’s no surprise that we still want to. 

There’s a six monthly cycle of some AAA game that asks the question “is shooting people bad?” that prompts 10 broadsheet newspaper pieces on Videogames: Not Just For Kids Anymore (and sub in comics/superheroes/etc for games there) that makes everyone who knows that roll their eyes. Games and comics and superheroes are big, legitimised industries now that turnover hundreds of billions of dollars.

Fanfiction is an outlier, as the purest form of play in a lot of senses. Unfettered, it’s the democratic media platform; there’s no minimum standard for publishing, there’s no real limits beyond your own ethics on what you can publish. it doesn’t turn a profit, by its very definition and it allows lots of games and versions of itself within that. 

For something with a ludicrously broad definition that encapsulates hugely different types of works, it has defined forms; from drabbles to wingfic, as structural formats, we also recognise fluff or hurt/comfort as genre. Fanfiction isn’t really the thing itself, it’s the bookshop and what you find in it will vary on where you look and often, the advice of the bookseller or friends you speak to.

If you’ve enjoyed wandering that bookstore and adding to its shelves as part of the way you engage with media and then you come to a sports fandom? Well, you’re gonna look for the fic. If you don’t see yourself in the sport, as a woman or a queer person then you can write yourself in. It’s sad that we sideline the fantasies where we exist - given they’re entirely normal to have - into places where we jealously guard them away from the reality we daren’t intrude on but that is how it is.

And fuck: if your whole reason for liking F1 is cus you wanna marry a driver and you’re writing those 15 minute fantasies about them like you’re 15 and they’re a poster then it’s not doing any harm - it’s a lot healthier than stalking them. You might even work out what you really want or more things about yourself, in the process.

(if it’s ‘to marry an F1 driver’ then I suggest you take some boring swimwear snaps somewhere that looks expensive, stick ‘em on Insta and wait for the DM slide)

One of the things I like best in fanfic is the possibility of a queer narrative without complications, of telling queer stories without having to justify them as Issues, of letting us see ourselves and our own awakenings because fuck, you know the big book shop (if such things still exist) has one shelf of expensive, niche published novels you find difficult to related to and three sex ed books.

F1 fanfic was one of the ways I wandered back to the F1 fandom and one of the reasons I work in the industry now. It was enough of an in to make me want to really think, to have that new crush energy of obsession and enjoyment, about motorsport in a way I’d drifted away from as I felt sidelined from the sport through my early-to-mid 20s. I found brocedes much more compelling, as an interpretation and a way of processing the intense rivalry between Lewis and Nico - even knowing it was fictional conjecture - than I did the equally fictional conjecture about their psychological states and potential weaknesses published in the sports papers.

So, yes, I have read some excellent Formula 1 RPF. I have written some frankly mediocre and in retrospect very poorly edited F1 RPF that I posted to Twitter in a drunken moment of excitement because I was happy I’d finished it and forgot, idk. I have a tricky relationship to being a Notable Person I guess, I hadn’t intended any harm and was mostly worried I’d get flack from the industry. Lol. Anyway, only saying it cus like; this isn’t just me talking about things theoretically.

There’s a lot of F1 RPF that is more insightful than a lot of columns about ‘inside the drivers’ minds’ working off very little more than the RPF is.

Some of it, I won’t lie, I find really fucking weird but I guess like, that ain’t for me. There are a lot of problems with RPF - it’s too male, too frequently misogynist, too keen to reinforce homophobic ideas, too often white and blonde, not radical enough but those issues are for the advanced class rather than the 101 overview I was aiming for here and go well beyond F1 or RPF.

Shit I should be writing the weather report. Fuck. I’m the worst. Err, there you go, that’s a whole thing.

(I don’t read very much - I am busy af - but occasionally and especially on long haul flights when the idea of anything other than soothing is impossible)

*Actually tbh Thucydides couldn’t write for fuck but it was early and you know how when a tag’s young you’ll read a lot of mediocre stuff?

[the1918]

a word about fandom hate and dumpster fires

lately, i’ve seen myself and many of my most beloved fandom mutuals receiving a lot of-- frankly alarming-- hate. anons, comments, callouts... all of it. much of this hate was sent specifically because we choose to partake -- on this website, since all other platforms suck -- in things like reading/writing RPF fanfiction, posting headcanons about celebrities, general thirst posting in the first degree, and other fandom debauchery that obviously makes us lesser humans deserving of direct and aggressive derision. the general criticism is that certain fandom activities -- as conducted within the confines of tumblr -- are unforgivably harmful because the celebrities we so admire “might see it”.

so here’s my brew: yes, this website is a dumpster fire, and i won’t deny for a second that i personally contribute fuel to the flames right from my place inside this warm and cosy box. but i work in the hazardous waste management industry (bear with me on the metaphor), and i’d like to take a moment to explain something: 

there are many different kinds of dumpsters. 

twitter is your run-of-the-mill municipal dumpster that literally anyone can toss their garbage into, and is essentially a public eyesore. everyone sees it and nobody likes it, because no one can escape the overwhelming stench. even if you’re a celebrity just walking to your preferred bar or pub to socialize, odds are that you can’t avoid walking by the disgusting bin of food service rot on your way inside. this dumpster has a plastic lid, by the way, which pretty much melts as soon as the contents catch fire.

instagram is a single-stream recycle bin, which may sound better, but trust me-- they can be equally as disgusting. good-natured people (say, celebrities who want to interact with fans) try to contribute acceptable, uncontaminated materials with the intention of making the world a slightly more pleasant place... but then passersby without souls throw in their rotting garbage and contaminate the entire load. and yes, even small amounts of garbage can render the entire load useless and worthless, since recyclers usually cannot parse out the rot from the original contents. this lid is also plastic, and contents burn rapidly.

which brings us to tumblr dot com...

tumblr isn’t just a dumpster-- it is a straight-up hazardous waste storage closet. we, the waste generators, take things from hundreds of external sources and mix them up to create something that-- while often new--is frequently so fucking nasty that you have to hold a federal license just to get near it. 

...but here’s the thing: the container holding this shit is a fucking unit. it is reinforced, built from 12-gauge steel that can contain an inferno until it either burns out (usually the case), or the fire department comes. so except for the occasional fumes, the toxicity is contained (unless, of course, someone swoops in for screen caps to post on a buzzfeed listicle or twitter... but that’s where the metaphor starts to break down). while i have seen celebrities at restaurants and bars and all kinds of places that frequently have garbage and recycling dumpsters, i have never seen a celebrity walk into an industrial hazardous waste generation facility.

tl;dr -- get off your high horse and leave tumblr users alone. your real enemy is the dumpster juice websites, not the secured drum of death that is my blog.

[madlori]

Unveiled - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 3300 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Definitely sex in this one.

Read it on AO3

A week passed.

Zhenya and his consort did not have sex every day, but it was frequent. Temporarily free from the pressure to conceive, they engaged in a variety of non-procreative activities as they explored one another’s preferences. He learned that his partner did not enjoy having his feet touched (the first thumbs-down signal he received from him) and had to deploy their signal himself when the consort had started to maneuver them into the 69 position, one he found deeply uncomfortable. That still left a lot of options, though. 

He saw Sidney almost every day. Sometimes they took a ride together, sometimes they fished. Sidney made good on his promise to teach Zhenya to spar, and he flattered himself that he was picking it up quickly. 

He tried to keep his outings with Sidney...unobtrusive, and away from too many observers. But he was pretty sure that his fondness for Sidney would be apparent to anyone who saw them together, and he was becoming increasingly confident that Sidney was fond of him, too. He worried about the staff gossiping, or thinking him a cad for socializing with another man, but given that he was literally prohibited from socializing with his consort, Sidney’s friendship was a luxury he couldn’t seem to deny himself. He’d had so few genuine, true friends in his life, and he didn’t want to give it up. Not to mention that whatever people assumed, he wasn’t actually having an affair with him -- his interactions with Sidney were wholly platonic. His attraction to him lay uneasily alongside his intense desire for his consort, and his continued admiration for how his husband was conducting himself in his new life. Seryozha sang his praises at every opportunity, and embargo or no embargo, the palace staff were all becoming very fond of him.

Of course they are, they actually get to talk to him, Zhenya sometimes groused to himself. He yearned for the day when he’d see the man’s face, and hear his voice, and finally share his life with him as they were meant to.

But unveiling his consort would mean losing Sidney. It was a trade he was prepared to make, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dreading it.

His parents had departed on a trip abroad right after his wedding, and the day they returned was the day Zhenya hoped that they’d get news about his consort’s conception or lack thereof. He’d seen his husband several times in the palace that morning, guards in tow (no sign of Sidney, for which he was guiltily grateful)...everyone seemed to be milling around in a holding pattern, as if they all knew that today was important.

“Zhenya, my son, you look good,” his father said, hugging him enthusiastically and slapping his back. Zhenya’s father was nearly a foot shorter than he was, a source of much mirth around the palace, and it made such greetings awkward to say the least.

“You too, Papa. How was your trip?” He bent to kiss his mother’s cheeks as they moved to the settee in his parents’ drawing room.

“Dull, dull, dull. Balls and dinners and meetings and the same boring conversation every time. The only bright spot was the many congratulations on your marriage.”

“We appreciate them.”

“How is your consort, my dear?” his mother asked.

“He is very well.”

“And you are...getting along all right?”

He smiled. “We’re getting along great, mother. He’s a remarkable man.”

His father frowned. “You haven’t broken embargo, have you?”

“No sir, absolutely not. It’s just that one can’t help but deduce a few things about someone you see so often. I hear how the staff speaks of him, and I know how he’s behaved towards me. These things reveal a man’s character.”

“Of course. Just...be cautious. The whole idea of embargo is to minimize attachment.”

“I know.” He didn’t mention that the task of minimizing attachment was already a dismal failure, on several fronts.

The door opened and a page entered. “Your Majesties, Dr. Rjskov would like permission to enter with His Highness the Prince Consort.”

His father sighed. “Was he waiting by the door for a cue? I imagine this is news we should all hear.” He looked at Zhenya. “Embargo will be observed once your husband enters, son. Anything you want to say now before they come in?”

“No, sir.” Zhenya was on his feet and all but vibrating out of his clothes.

The page opened the door and Dr. Rjskov entered. At his side was the consort, draped in his dressiest veils (Zhenya had gotten to know the range of drapings he possessed) over a suit. He bowed to the King and Queen, then came to stand next to Zhenya. Dr. Rjskov was walking ramrod straight, like he was being filmed. “Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness. I come before you this afternoon with the news that His Highness, the Prince Consort, is with child.”

His father whooped and his mother cheered; they embraced each other, beaming wide, happy smiles, his mother dashing tears from her eyes. Zhenya’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest. He stood there stunned for a moment, then looked down into his consort’s upturned face and wished he could see it. He grinned and a fast exhale escaped his chest. He lifted his eyebrows in a “really?” gesture, watching the consort...he nodded quickly, the gesture containing all his own excitement and relief.

If he’d been a regular person with an ordinary spouse, learning that they were to become parents, he’d have been able to kiss him, to see the joy on his face, to babble excitedly with him and talk about what to do next. But none of that was available to him, because he was a prince, and this was his embargoed consort, and he did not even know the man’s name to exclaim it aloud in jubilation. All he could do, all he could think to do, was clasp his consort’s gloved hands and press them to his lips.

“Doctor, do you know when the consort conceived?” his father was asking. 

“Yes, based on our bloodwork, I believe His Highness conceived on the wedding day.”

Zhenya’s heart soared again; that was the best possible outcome, as it meant the shortest embargo. If all went well, he’d see his husband’s face in less than three months.

As his father and the doctor continued to talk about the embargo and the pregnancy, Zhenya just stood and let happiness wash over him. Out of sight of his parents, his consort slipped his hand into Zhenya’s, lacing their fingers together, and squeezed.

----------

Zhenya paced in his bedroom later that night, hoping to hear a knock soon. He considered going through and knocking himself, but he didn’t want to presume. He preferred that any contact they had was initiated by the consort, and he felt pretty confident that contact would be initiated, tonight of all nights.

He’d barely had time to internalize the news before the consort was whisked away by his mother so they could start talking about whatever baby-related plans had to be made, which of course had to be done out of Zhenya’s earshot. His father had immediately started harassing him about plans for the unveiling. Such a large occasion, the formal unveiling followed by a public introduction and a grand ball, required a lot of work and even though there was always a chance it would have to be cancelled, they’d proceed as if it would go ahead when the consort’s pregnancy reached three months.

Zhenya had finally been allowed to retire after dinner, his head spinning, half-dizzy from the emotion of the day.

A child. He’s carrying my child. I’m going to be a father. We’re going to be parents.

I wonder if he’s told Sidney.

The thought drew him up short. He realized with a jolt that Sidney hadn’t crossed his mind all day, which was unusual. He also hadn’t so much as glimpsed him today, which was also unusual. He wondered where he’d gotten off to. He’d seen the consort’s guards, including Fleury and Letang and Crosby (the strong blond ponytailed woman he’d noticed the first day), but not Sidney.

He jumped when the knock finally came, feeling guilty that he’d been thinking of someone else when his consort asked for his attention. He leapt to the door and flung it wide, grinning. He couldn’t see it but he could almost sense his consort’s answering grin beneath his drapings. Zhenya couldn’t help himself; he rushed into their bedchamber and swept his husband into his arms, embracing him fully for what was actually the first time. They’d held each other in bed, but had never hugged like this. It wasn’t forbidden, but it was generally considered bad form to touch an embargoed consort anywhere he or she was veiled, which sort of ruled out all but the most perfunctory hugs, which this was not.

He didn’t care, and judging by the enthusiasm with which his consort hugged him back, he didn’t care, either. He felt broad and strong in Zhenya’s arms, his hands digging into Zhenya’s dressing gown and his face tucking into the side of his neck.

Zhenya pulled back and knelt at his consort’s feet, the man’s hands lingering on his shoulders. He slid his hands to the curve of the consort’s waist, those ridges of muscle over his hips forming a V framing his abdomen. Zhenya leaned in and kissed the smooth skin of his flat belly, feeling a hand card through his hair as he did so. He looked up at him, palming the softness at his waist, and the hand in his hair slid down to cup his cheek, the consort’s thumb stroking across his cheekbone. He pulled Zhenya to his feet and held up a “just a moment” finger, then went over to a table near the door into his bedroom. When he returned he was holding a piece of black cloth -- Zhenya realized that it was a blindfold, a large one molded to fit over the upper part of the face. He looked up, confused.

His consort held up the blindfold, pointed to it and then to Zhenya, and then mimed removing his veils. Zhenya’s heart stuttered -- was he suggesting...? He was. Zhenya nodded eagerly, and between the two of them they stripped him quickly of his dressing gown and pajamas. The consort sat him down in a chair then hesitated a moment, holding the blindfold. Zhenya squeezed his hand in encouragement. His husband gave a nod, then carefully placed the blindfold over Zhenya’s eyes and tied it behind his head. Its shape, sweeping down over his cheeks and halfway up his forehead, meant that not even a sliver of vision was left to him. He felt a hand stroke down his face and then sensed him step away.

He heard a quiet rustling of fabric and anticipation clenched in his belly. Here in this room, mere feet from him, his husband was unveiled and exposed, naked before him. He felt the warmth of his body as he stepped close again and then...oh, and then.

The consort joined him in the chair, straddling his lap. No drapings separated them now. Zhenya’s hands twitched nervously; he could scarcely believe he was allowed to touch him freely. His husband had to pick up his hands and place them on his smooth, bare chest. Zhenya shuddered and his hands trembled against his consort’s warm skin. The consort slid his own arms around Zhenya’s neck and leaned in; there it was again, the smell of him, clean and strong, earth after a thunderstorm. His breath ghosted over Zhenya’s face, bearing a hint of the spiced hot tea that he liked to drink.

The consort cupped Zhenya’s face and leaned even closer. Zhenya craved him; he was desperate to close the gap but he didn’t dare -- he could barely bring himself to touch him. Then, barely louder than a puff of air, his mate whispered “Husband” and pressed his mouth to Zhenya’s.

The touch sent a shock through Zhenya’s whole body. No kiss in his long history of kissing men had ever felt like this, had ever felt so consuming, so earth-shattering. He fell into his husband’s mouth, Zhenya’s arms winding around his back and holding him close. The consort’s lips were full and plush; he was solid and strong in Zhenya’s arms. His mouth opened beneath Zhenya’s and they tilted into each other, breath coming faster and hearts thudding against each other’s chests. 

Zhenya slid one arm underneath his hips and stood up, bearing the consort with him. He felt a slight gasp escape the man at being hoisted up like this. He wrapped his legs around Zhenya’s narrow hips and kissed him harder as Zhenya carried him to the bed and laid them both down. For an indeterminate time they writhed together, hardly able to contain their mutual excitement at this newfound freedom to touch.

But that freedom did have its limits, Zhenya realized after a few moments. Several times he lifted his hands to his partner’s face and had them gently redirected. Clearly his consort didn’t want him forming a visual picture of his face through touch. Zhenya could have told him that his fingers weren’t so skilled that he could see with them as a blind man would, but his consort wasn’t taking the chance. Zhenya could kiss his face -- and kiss it he did, all over and then again -- but touching it was off the table.

He kissed down the man’s throat, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his lips, and then down his chest. His nipples were flat and soft; Zhenya’s tongue flicked over them, wondering when they would begin to distend in preparation for their child’s arrival. His consort’s hands were all over him, in his hair, on his face, clutching at his shoulders, as if he couldn’t touch enough of him. Zhenya’s hands roamed his back and chest, sliding down to his ass; they were both hard but the novelty of this new contact was distracting enough that neither of them were paying much attention to their cocks.

Even without touching his face, Zhenya gleaned a little new information about his husband. He had short hair, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. His features felt strong, his jaw sharp and well-defined. None of this told Zhenya much at all, but he hoarded any morsel of intelligence about his consort that he could find.

It didn't help that his mind insisted on conjuring up Sidney’s face, much as he commanded it to discard the image as irrelevant. The two men seemed to be merging in his subconscious to the point that if he imagined what Sidney’s cock looked like, he saw it as like his husband’s, and when he imagined his husband’s face, there was Sidney. 

They rolled on the bed, kissing wildly and grabbing at each other, for what felt like a very long time before Zhenya’s arousal began demanding that he move things along. All at once, he knew what he wanted. He pulled his consort on top of him and parted his legs so his partner’s hips slotted between them. The consort pulled back a bit, moving his hips forward carefully, his body asking if this was what Zhenya wanted. Zhenya nodded and wrapped his hands around the back of the consort’s neck, pulling him back down into a kiss.

His husband slipped a hand between them and positioned his cock, then thrust forward into Zhenya with a shuddering sigh. Zhenya couldn’t help it, he cried out a little before biting it back and grabbing the consort’s ass, hoping he’d get the message that he wanted it, and hard.

He got the message. The consort dropped his head into the hollow of Zhenya’s shoulder and fucked him just as he wanted. The day’s news freed them to reverse their habitual roles without concern that Zhenya could become pregnant as well; pregnancy left the consort temporarily sterile. Zhenya couldn’t seem to hold him tight enough, his hands roamed restlessly over every part of him he could reach. His husband had a fantastic cock, and he’d taken great pleasure in it before now, but nothing could have prepared him for what it would feel like inside him.

Nor for the sheer athleticism of his consort. Zhenya was taller but his partner was broader and stronger; he felt wholly surrounded and dominated by him, and to his surprise it was touching a place of arousal he’d never reached before. Being pressed down into the bed by the solid, heavy body of his mate woke a deep desire he hadn’t known he had. His whole body shook and his orgasm snuck up on him, breaking and crashing over him, his cock jerking and spilling between their bodies. The consort kissed the gasps out of his mouth, slipping his hands underneath him to seize his shoulders as he thrust in harder; his body shuddered, he held deep and came into Zhenya.

They sagged into a sweaty, sated heap together, pulling in fast breaths and stroking each other’s skin. Within a few minutes the cooling perspiration felt uncomfortable, and both their bellies were splattered with Zhenya’s come. He felt his husband sit up and get off the bed, then he grasped Zhenya’s hand and pulled him up, too. He led him to the door -- not the door to his own chamber, but to Zhenya’s. Still unable to see, Zhenya let his consort lead him into his own bathroom and then into his large walk-in shower.

Still a bit muzzy-headed from the frankly life-changing sex he’d just had, Zhenya let himself be taken charge of. He stood in the shower while his consort started the water and began washing them both, clearing the sweat and fluids from their bodies, stopping frequently to kiss him. It was an odd sensation to be bathed while blind, but Zhenya was finding it pleasurable. There was something about being cared for like this. Usually it was him looking after his consort, who was embargoed and seen as a precious treasure to be protected and coddled, but having the roles reversed was pleasingly subversive.

They dried each other off and then Zhenya was led to his own bed and sat down on the edge; the consort pressed one finger to his lips in a “wait” gesture, then Zhenya heard him walk away.  He returned in a few moments, untied and removed the blindfold. Zhenya blinked as his eyes readjusted; his consort’s drapings were back in place.

The consort leaned closer, stroked his hand down Zhenya’s face again, and turned to leave. Zhenya caught his hand and held him back; he jerked his chin back over his shoulder at the bed and tugged at his hand.

Stay. Stay here with me.

The consort’s head cocked, questioning. Zhenya nodded. He wasn’t sure his husband would agree. If he stayed, he’d have to sleep in his veils. The consort hesitated, went to the door that led back into the royal bedchamber and his own bedroom...and shut it, staying in Zhenya’s room.

Zhenya grinned and got up, holding out his hand. His husband joined him and they peeled back the sheets and blankets, climbing in together, the consort careful to keep his veils secure around him. It took them a few tries to maneuver into a comfortable sleeping position but they finally spooned up together, Zhenya behind with his husband curled against his chest. He slid his hand over the consort’s hip to rest low on his belly; after a moment, his consort covered Zhenya’s hand with his own.

Next Chapter

[wellknownwolf]

I want to move into a new phase in my relationship with fandom, as I mature with new experiences. I'm not sure what exactly that looks like though. What is your take on the parasocial affection inherent in an RPF like Rhett & Link? Or even the deep attachments that can form with fictional characters? Or a desire to emulate fantasy worlds? I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable with all this, it's just that it's been a long time coming, and once I got started I couldn't stop. - Natasha (5)

First, let me post the full question, since it came in 5 parts:

Hey, it's me again. Your 'mystery inquirer', as you so adorably dubbed me. You're right, I had forgotten I'd sent in that ask. Just now, I couldn't help but think about a scene from Life After, as I am wont to on a frightfully regular basis, which is what got me back here. When you said you pondered over my seemingly simple, banal question for a good while, and wrote out a beautifully thoughtful answer like you always do, it made me happy.

Your narrative voice is similar to my own, and it made my chest ache in a certain way to have gotten such a response to what felt like a random shout out into the abyss (though it obviously wasn't, I sent it directly to you, I guess it's more what it felt like taking a chance on a conversation with a random stranger online). And now I'm cringing a bit at how melodramatic all sounds. But I'm committing to it, anyway. That's the beauty of anon, eh?

Wolfie (is it presumptuous to call you that? Please do forgive me the liberty I'm taking), I must admit. I'm quite envious of this community you have with @missingparentheses, @lunar-winterlude, and other wonderful people. Since childhood, I've been head over heels in love with fandom. Not a specific fandom, I've been a traveller through dozens, but fandom in general. I've read probably thousands of fanfics, spent countless hours daydreaming about beloved characters and their stories.

To the point where, in my most recent and worst depressive episode, it may have been for the worse, if I'm honest. Escapism and yearning to the point of impairment, engendering a sense of constant bereavement. But it's taught me so much about life and its wonders, I can't write it off as just some damaging habit. It's such an integral part of who I am, a deeply curious soul (shout out to my Enneagram Type 5-ers out there!). But I don't anyone to share it with, and it can get quite lonely.

I want to move into a new phase in my relationship with fandom, as I mature with new experiences. I'm not sure what exactly that looks like though. What is your take on the parasocial affection inherent in an RPF like Rhett & Link? Or even the deep attachments that can form with fictional characters? Or a desire to emulate fantasy worlds? I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable with all this, it's just that it's been a long time coming, and once I got started I couldn't stop. - Natasha

.....................................................................

Thank you for giving me so much to respond to, Natasha.  Thank you for continuing to reach out.   I accidentally wrote something like a paper in response to your thoughtful question.  I even conducted a little research and cited a source.  ENGLISH TEACHER, ACTIVATE!

Also, for what it’s worth, I feel at times that I communicate exclusively through shouts into the abyss, so it’s a language with which I am at home.  In fact, it is this very technique, this experiment with intense vulnerability at the hands of a virtual stranger, that earned me one of my absolutely most-treasured friends: @missingparentheses.  I have poured out a great deal of my own melodrama to her, and she has received it and reciprocated it in a way that, three years later, continues to teach me how to be a better friend.  In short, I’m a firm believer in diving straight in when it comes to new friends.  Cringe not; I’m on board.

So let’s dive.

R&L is really only the second “fandom” with which I’ve been involved.  Third, if we count my preteen obsession with ‘N Sync (and considering how much wall space I dedicated to their posters and self-printed photos, we probably should).  My point is, while I don’t have much experience with the community facet of fandom, I do relate to your feeling of near-obsession.  Or clear obsession.  

I know the feeling of escapism you’re describing, and I know the yearning and melancholy that can come on our worst days, where we feel like “real life” will never measure up to the color and brilliance of the worlds we spend so much time considering. These worlds, these characters and their relationships, their challenges, victories, and defeats all seem so purposeful: they’re the plot points we use to craft the stories in our heads (regardless of whether we’re writers at all).  It can be much harder to view ourselves as protagonists worth analyzing, viewing and reviewing through new lenses, perhaps because we’re warned against navel-gazing, perhaps because our self-perception just won’t allow for it.  Maybe a little of both.

But yes!  It teaches us!  We DO learn about life, other people, love, risk, all kinds of things through what we consume in these fandoms, so I would never classify it as a “bad” thing.  We hone our imaginations and learn to pay attention to our own emotions as we recognize feelings from our favorite shows, games, books, and characters arising in ourselves.  

I used to be a little afraid of the fact that I was always telling myself stories, internally imagining myself as someone else, a player in the worlds I often loved more than my own.  I suspected that someday, somehow, I would be caught playing pretend all the time in my own little ways.  I was a bright and ambitious young woman, so why would I give so much of my mental energy to such frivolous pursuits?

In my first semester of graduate school, though, I learned from a Lit. Theory professor who intimidated the hell out of me that we all do this.  We’re all telling ourselves stories all the time, some of which are true and close to objective reality, some of which are more subjective to whatever fantastical (or fandom) material we last consumed.  I’ve whispered my own dialogue in the shower, but so have you whispered yours in your head (if not also out loud in your shower!).  And through this act, however it is performed, I have made those worlds part of my own.  So have you.  In this way, they are real, and I no longer feel fearful of being “found out.”  

When we have those moments of doubt, though, when we wonder whether we’re going too far, it probably stems, at least partially, from the “us v. them” divide between fandom and mainstream society.  We love our little worlds, but we also feel that twinge of anxiety that we might be bordering on obsession, that our guilty pleasure might be discovered and we will be socially punished for it, namely, as Joli Jensen writes in “Fandom as Pathology: The Consequences of Characterization,” because “the fan is characterized as (at least potentially) an obsessed loner, suffering from a disease of isolation, or a frenzied crowd member, suffering from a disease of contagion. In either case, the fan is seen as being irrational, out of control, and prey to a number of external forces” (13). According the consistent covert (and overt, at times) messages of the mainstream, “[f]andom is conceived of as a chronic attempt to compensate for a perceived personal lack of autonomy, absence of community, incomplete identity, lack of power and lack of recognition” (Jensen 17).  Yikes.  That doesn’t feel good to admit about ourselves, does it?  

Luckily, it’s bullshit.

Treating “fans” as others (outsiders, people who can’t form relationships or find fulfillment in the “real world”) “risks denigrating them in ways that are insulting and absurd” (Jensen 25).  Those who take this stance, who see fans as victims of hysteria or desperate loners, do so in order to “develop and defend a self-serving moral landscape.  That terrain cultivates in us a dishonorable moral stance of superiority, because it makes other into examples of extrinsic forces, while implying that we [members solely of the mainstream] somehow remain pure, autonomous, ad unafflicted” (Jensen 25).  In short, that us/them thinking just makes people feel better about themselves by pointing out an easily-identifiable “other.”

 I have also grappled with the concept of parasocial affection, particularly with R&L.  I was well into writing my first Rhink fic when the thought crossed my mind, “Oh my god, what if I actually met these people someday?  How would I look them in the eye?  I’d feel like a crazy person (again)!”  From the safety of the Midwest, I laughed off the thought.  And then a year or so later, they were announcing their first tour. And I was still writing, here and there, still deep in my affection for them, sometimes wrestling with the thought that I’ve devoted so much energy to people who would never know I exist.  

It doesn’t matter that the attachment was in the most obvious, tangible ways only one-sided.  As an adult who is ever-learning how to navigate the worlds of her own creation and the ones over which she has far less control, I view my intense attachment to characters both real and fictional with deep fondness.   And while I may not receive affection or attention directly from the sources (R&L, fictional characters, sports teams, who/whatever we build fandoms around), I am still earning some very real rewards for my involvement: Because of them, I found my way to a participatory culture in which I was supported and encouraged to express my creativity.  This gave me the push and interest that I needed to hone skills that have not only made me a better writer, but also a better teacher and mentor.  With fandom comes the ability to immediately strike up a conversation over shared interests. With fandom comes a sense of belonging in what we have proven is an awfully divisive world.  

Right now, I’m consuming far less fandom-related material than I did a few years ago.  I don’t really watch GMM anymore and I’m on a break from Ear Biscuits (though I still love it), Gotham ended over a year ago and I’m not in the habit of reading fics right now, and I can’t yet play the remade Final Fantasy 7, so that’s out for me, too (though I know I will fall deep into that well once the game is in my hot little hands).  This all happened by itself.  I never consciously moved away from these sources; I just floated on to other interests and other levels of interest, knowing that if and when I wanted to dig back in, I could always come back.  

I used to feel quite sad at the thought of someday “moving on” from these intense interests.  I couldn’t fathom somehow falling out of love with those bands, actors, or video games.  But for me, the transition into wherever I am now has not been painful in the least.  I’m glad I knew the intensity that I did, and I’m happy with the distance I have now. And there’s a good chance I’ll be fanatic about something else someday.  I’m looking forward to it!

 Here are some responses that I couldn’t organically fit into my essay:

Yes, you can call me Wolfie if you’d like.  That name started with @missingparentheses (her second appearance in this answer!), and quickly became a reminder to not take myself too seriously.  

Second, I don’t think I know any other Type 5s!  I’m a type 8. 

Also, here’s my MLA formatted citation for the Jensen source:

Jensen, Joli. “Fandom as Pathology: The Consequences of Characterization.”   The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, Routledge, 1992, pp. 9-29.

[cluelessrebel1988]

Shipping questions

Saw that @hpfangirl13​ had done this and it looked like fun so I thought I’d give it a shot

Talk about the first ship you ever had.

One of the first pairs that I remember wanting to get together was Harry/Hermione as I was reading the Harry Potter series. I didn’t know what shipping was at the time (I’m not even sure there was a term for it yet), but I really thought they made a better couple than Ron/Hermione for the longest time. I eventually came around to Ron/Hermione (Book 7 was the game changer), but Harry/Hermione was the one I was rooting for for about half the series.

Talk about three of the most important ships throughout your life.

I mean, the first one is pretty important, right? The one that gets you started on wanting to see where a relationship or friendship goes. So yeah, Harry/Hermione would probably be an important one. Outside of that, the top three are Cartinelli (Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli) on the show Agent Carter was a big one for me because that kickstarted by deep and resounding love for f/f pairings;FitzSimmons from Agents of SHIELD. If for no other reason than that’s the one thing that kept me watching through some pretty dismal story arcs; And Riley Matthews/Maya Hart (Rilaya) from Girl Meets World, due to them being one of the few pairs I’ve shipped since day one.

What’s your current OTP?

Not gonna lie, I fell pretty hard for the budding romance between Jane Banks and Jack the lamplighter in Mary Poppins returns. It’s just so sweet and pure and just starting out and it’s damn near perfect.

What’s your current NOTP?

I don’t really have one at the moment. The most recent was probably Kara/Mon-El on Supergirl, but mostly because I thought the relationship was poorly written and that the arc that they gave Mon-El would have worked just fine if they weren’t in a relationship.

Do you have any poly ships?

No. I’ve never been able to get into that. No judgement against people that are, though!

How do you feel about love triangles?

I have yet to see one that didn’t get old fast and drag a story down hard. 

How do you feel about RPF?

Not really my thing. Feels too weird.

Have you ever shipped yourself with a character?

I actually have. Generally when I’m testing out OCs in my head or in the canon of the story, I don’t have them mess with canon pairings, but I’ve got a Lord of the Rings OC that I ship with Eowyn and yes, it’s pretty much a self-insert situation. 

Do you have many ships that never got together at all?

Well, Cartinelli never became an actual couple, but I was never expecting them to. That’s probably the only one.

Do you ship any characters that have never met?

No, there’s gotta be some kind of meeting

Talk about your favorite first kiss.

Gotta go with FitzSimmons on this one. After a little over two seasons of slow burn, and just about every bad thing you can think of getting thrown their way (including one of them getting sucked into a portal to an alien planet), they’re back together, dealing with the long months apart, the fact that one of them is convinced they’re cursed as a couple and conflicting emotions abound, and the confrontation scene they’re having reaches a tipping point and Fitz kisses Simmons as passionately as he can. She kisses him a moment later, but more gently and for just a moment, nothing else matters. No one else matters. It’s just them. Still love that scene.

Have you ever been disappointed when your ship finally got together?

Not really. Not that I can think of.

Has a ship ever broken your heart?

I had my heart broken about a dozen times over with FitzSimmons, largely due to a combination of amazing writing and an inexplicable desire by said writers to keep them from getting together.

How do you feel about will they/won’t they?

Oh, if it’s done well, it’s about as perfect as it gets. But you gotta do it right. 

Have you ever “shipped at first sight”?

I think most, if not all, of my ships started at first sight

Talk about a ship you initially disliked.

I was never on the Reylo train, and I’m still not even after ‘The Last Jedi’ (though I get why a lot more people started shipping them after that movie). I’d be lying if I said I hated it, but it’s just one that I never got on board with.

Talk about a pairing you’ve stopped shipping romantically.

I really can’t think of any.

Talk about a moment which made you question an entire ship.

I really had a hard time understanding the SkyeWard (Agents of SHIELD) ship after it was revealed that Ward was Hydra. Pretty much everything about him after that was just...ugh. I’ve maintained for a while that his character deserved a redemption arc and that said arc would have been a more interesting story than just straight up making him the bad guy, but the two of them together never made sense to me after that reveal.

Have you ever shipped something despite yourself?

Not really. I know what I like and what I don’t and my ships tend to fall in line with that.

Talk about a ship you feel alone in shipping?

Probably just about any pairing from ‘The Great Escape’ but that’s largely because it’s a movie from 1963 and I’m not sure how many people in the shipping culture of today have even heard of it.

Is there a ship you just don’t get, but have nothing against?

Not really. Most of the ships I don’t get I have problems with, and the ones I don’t ship, but don’t have a problem with I at least understand 

Which of your ships have the best chemistry?

FitzSimmons has always had amazing chemistry and just continues to get better

Which of your ships deserve better writing?

FitzSimmons deserves writers that will just let them be happy for five fucking minutes, okay?

Do you mostly ship canon pairings?

There’s a bit of balance, I think, maybe leaning toward canon pairings.

Have you ever shipped a pairing before you even started watching the show/movie simply because of gifs and graphics or similar?

Not that I can think of.

Have you noticed a pattern in your shipping? Is there a romantic dynamic you’re more drawn to?

It’s what I (and a lot of Tumblr users) call the Slytherin/Hufflepuff dynamic. You’ve got the tough character who would set world on fire to protect their less world-weary counterpart, and the eternal optimist who will forever see the best in their significant other, perhaps most especially when they can't see it in themselves.

Is there a ship you’ve shipped for most of your life?

I guess my longest, most consistent ship has been FitzSimmons which I’ve been shipping since 2013. Cartinelli is a close second, that one’s since 2015

Does shipping come easily to you?

Oh yeah. It takes very little for me to start shipping something, even if its casually.

Do you need to ship something to really enjoy a movie/book/tv show/comic?

I don’t know if I NEED to ship something to enjoy the source material, but I’d be hard pressed to think of a situation where it doesn’t improve it at least a little.

Name a couple of fandoms in which you have no ships.

I’m not currently shipping anyone on the show Manifest, so there’s that.

Talk about one of your favorite headcanons for a ship you love.

It’s not one that I came up with, but I did see a FitzSimmons headcanon a few years back that he didn’t know how to tie a tie (despite wearing them all the time) and she tied them for him but no one knew about that. I really liked that and it’s kind of the epitome of their relationship in season 1

Name your favorite fan artist(s).

I don’t really have any favorites, not that I could list.

Share your favorite fanmix for your OTP.

I did come across a Cartinelli fanmix a while back that I liked. I don’t remember all the songs in it, but I do remember it included ‘La Vie En Rose’ and “Someone to Watch Over Me’ which are songs a lot of people associate with the ship

Do you create fanmixes/gif sets/fanart/fic/fanvids and so on for your ships?

I’ve made a few fanvids for a couple of my ships, and I’ve written a fair share of fics for others.

Do you have a favorite trope and/or AU for your OTP?

My favorite FitzSimmons AU is one where they get a happy ending (I’m a bit bitter about this, can you tell?)

Do you like and use ship names?

Dear God, yes. The more creative the better.

Is there a fictional relationship you’d really want for yourself?

I mean, apart from one where I’m a rider of Rohan and am able to romance Lady Eowyn, no

If you could change one thing about your OTP, what would that be?

Angie Martinelli plays a bigger role in season 2 of Agent Carter and there’s no forced love triangle BS with Peggy.in Los Angeles. Cartinelli happiness (romantic or otherwise) ensues

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Challenge - Day 27: Compromise

I had less time to write than I would like today, but life goes like that some days. After not getting anything meaningful (I thought about writing and sketched some things out, which counts as writing time because it's all valuable to the process, but produced no new words) done the last two days I was really hoping to make something out of today. It's weird, because for both Sunday and yesterday I had scenes in mind, but for whatever reason they just didn't go.

Today's theme is "compromise," which is a fairly broad theme and I had a hard time calling up any specific scenes where this needs to happen. I mean, it's another thing where it's weird because they sort of do this all the time with things, because that's how stable relationships work, but I was thinking about upcoming things and it's a lot of all-or-nothing. I mean, in some instances Vincent's literally not in a position to do anything about anything either because he's waiting on news about his future or because he's injured and not allowed to put any weight on his foot, so he doesn't exactly have any credibility when he's trying to insist that Christian stop fussing over him or bringing him food or making him a bed on the sofa or anything, because he can't actually do any of it himself.

This led me to a thought about my next fic in a scene I've made mention of in another scene I wrote. Where it's the night of Vincent's injury and he's decided to sleep on his sofa so he doesn't bother Christian, but then wakes up in the middle of the night and is trying to get down the hall to the toilet and is of course making ALL MANNER of noise, which wakes Christian up anyway. Vincent feels badly that he's woken Christian (it's the night before a match), but Christian just wants to make sure Vincent is okay, so he ends up staying up to help Vincent and when Vincent wants to go back into his room and tells Christian to do the same because he's sure he'll keep him up if they're together, Christian fights him on it and what happens is that Vincent ends up in the guest room because it's closer to the bathroom if he needs to get up and Christian insists on sleeping in there with him even though Vincent thinks he won't get good rest. But Christian says that he's not getting good rest alone in his bed worrying about Vincent so this way at least he'll be here and know if Vincent needs anything. Compromise.

But! As convinced as I was that this was the scene for me to write today, I changed my mind just as I sat down to start. It's still a scene that's set the same evening, but it's about Christian wanting to stay home with Vincent instead of going to Friday night dinner at Toby's house and Vincent insisting that he goes because he should see his friends and not just sit home and watch Vincent sleep (he's on some fairly serious pain medication at this point so all he does is sleep and feel generally horrible with very little else in-between). It ends up also being a compromise and is another key scene around the main theme of the fic of Vincent being glad to be there in Christian's company, but also being generally angry and sad and not wanting to bring Christian down or take him away from his life, so he begs out of a lot of things and sends Christian away to live his life a lot even though they'd generally both rather just sit inside Christian's house and appreciate their time together more often than not.

Despite me not really having a solid grip on things going into this and thinking I’d only be able to write for an hour, I actually got really into this scene and pushed aside some other tasks tonight so I could finish it. I’m quite pleased with how it’s come out for a first draft.

Content warning for illness and prescription pain relievers in case anyone needs it.

Christian's phone let out an insistent buzz that seemed to shake the entire sofa and drill its way straight into the centre of Vincent's brain.

Too sick and exhausted to do anything about it, even if he <em>could</em> manage to figure out where the noise was coming from and make it stop, Vincent let it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

After the third cycle, Vincent risked flicking his eyes open and shifting around to locate the phone. He regretted it immediately as once again the room tilted around him, his stomach lurching and swooping along with it. He slammed his eyelids closed, sucking in deep breaths and swallowing down the nausea for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and buried his face into the comforting fabric of his sofa.

Another ring, and Vincent was close to saying fuck it all, fighting back the waves of dizziness and sickness until he could locate the source of the sound, fling his arm out to grab hold of it, and throw it across the room as hard as he could. Which, all things considered, probably wasn't that far. At worst, he figured, it would topple to the floorboards at the foot of the sofa as he shoved it away. Probably wouldn't even scratch the screen.

Thankfully, Vincent heard Christian's soft footfalls on the stairs just before he resorted to anything drastic.

"Christiaan," he yelled out. Or, tried to yell out, but his face was still jammed into the sofa cushion so it came out as more of a muffled groan.

"Vince?" Christian's voice immediately rushing closer, laced with the same concern Vincent had been hearing there all day. Ordinarily, he'd fight back about it, telling Christian he was fine and not to worry about him, he could take care of himself, but in this case he found he didn't mind a little bit of sympathy and coddling.

"Your phone," Vincent said, still not bothering to move his face out of the sofa cushion.

"What?" Christian asked, voice closer now, just beside Vincent's ear. His hand rested warm and heavy on Vincent's back, just between his shoulder blades.

"Phone," Vincent said again, this time managing to lever himself a few centimetres upward as he spoke the word before crashing back to the sofa.

"Wha...oh."

Christian's hand pressed down harder against his spine for a few seconds as he leaned over to retrieve his phone from where it rested on the arm of the sofa nearest Vincent's head. He settled back down, crouched on the floor beside the sofa, his right hand now absentmindedly rubbing small, soothing circles into Vincent's skin.

"Ugh," he said after a moment. "I think he's just going to keep calling until I answer him. One second, okay. Just let me tell him I won't be making it tonight and then I'm all yours, okay?"

At this, Vincent shifted, lifting his head and dropping it to the side so he could look over at Christian through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Who's there?"

"Hm," Christian said, still staring down at the screen of his phone. "Oh. Toby. I imagine it's about...well I imagine it's about a lot of things, but mostly--"

"Dinner," Vincent said, cutting in before Christian could finish. He wasn't quite sure why or how he'd come to it, but somewhere in the back of his drug-clouded brain something clicked.

Friday night. Weekly dinner with the Eredivisie contingent.

"Yeah," Christian said. "That, and probably he's wanting to know if everything is okay since I sort of ran away from training without warning and never turned back up again. I sent him a text to let him know what happened, but I haven't checked in since we've arrived back home. I'll call him back and let him know I won't be making it and they should go ahead without me."

He leaned in and pressed blessedly cool lips to Vincent's forehead then stood up, fingers already swiping at the screen of his phone.

Vincent looked up at him for a second then squinted his eyes back shut against the harsh glare of the overhead light that haloed Christian--silhouetting him against the brightness and casting his features into vague, indistinct shadows. A second, and then Christian's words clicked through the fog in his mind.

"Why aren't you going?"

"What?"

"Dinner. Why aren't you going?" Vincent repeated, speaking slowly this time in an attempt to force his words to come out a bit clearer.

"Why am I not...what kind of question is that?"

Vincent sucked in a deep breath then pressed his hand into the sofa cushion and levered himself upward. He held the pose for a second, then gritted his teeth against the pain and the wave of nausea he knew was coming, and dropped back down to lay on his side, facing outward into the room.

He took a moment to regain his bearings, drawing and releasing a few more deep breaths until the sensations subsided and he could at least somewhat competently form words again.

"You never miss dinner," he said. "It's a thing. All of you. Unless someone is literally on their deathbed your presence is expected."

Christian let out a breath of a laugh and then dropped back down to sit beside the sofa once more. In his hand, his phone once more took up its insistent buzz and he swiped at the screen until the noise ceased.

"Wacht even, Toby," he said, frowning down at the screen before turning back to Vincent.

He reached up and ran a hand through Vincent's hair, brushing it away from his forehead. "Liefje, this is as close to 'on your deathbed' as I'd like to see. I think everyone can forgive me one dinner."

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself relax into Christian's soft strokes smoothing at his hair. It had to feel horrible--stiff and greasy with long-dried sweat and the styling paste he'd used earlier that morning--but Christian didn't seem to mind.

He'd nearly drifted off, lulled to sleep by the soothing sensation of Christian's warm hand in combination with the pain relievers and the bone-deep exhaustion that had set in after the constant chaos of his day. He felt like he could sleep for days, and, honestly, that sounded like the most pleasing option of all--sleep right on through the weekend, blissfully unaware of the throbbing in his foot or the brain fog and illness from the drugs and especially the periodic realisation of what this all meant.

No Fener. No football. Not even allowed to put weight on his foot for weeks. Ready to go by January if he was lucky, but what team would want an out-of-form striker who hadn't played a full match in over a year?

Here in London, wrapped up in Christian's life for at least four more months, but at what cost.

Maybe he could fall asleep and wake up to find out this whole, horrible day had been nothing but a nightmare.

He flicked his eyes open to see Christian's face, eyes still laced with concern and fixed on his. His phone, back to vibrating with Toby's call once more, lay in his lap, ignored.

"'m so tired," Vincent mumbled, and Christian gave him a smile.

"I know. Sleep, Liefje. I'll be right here."

Vincent made a sound that was something between a snort and a groan. "You can't sit on the floor all night."

Christian's smile widened and he let out a small laugh. "No. Probably not. My feet are already getting pins and needles. Go to sleep and I'll go call Toby back and bring up a chair to sit in."

"No," Vincent said. He tried to put as much force as possible behind the word, but it still came out as a feeble whine.

"Vincent," Christian said, with all the gentle insistence of a parent trying to reason with a small child, "Go to sleep. It will be okay. I'll only be downstairs for a few moments and then I'll be right back here with you if you need anything."

Vincent felt like he was swimming through cotton wool, desperately trying to pull the thoughts and words out of his brain. His eyes fell closed once more and he fought against it, forcing them wide so he could stay awake and stay focused on Christian.

"No," he said again, though with somehow less force behind the words than previously. "That's not...I don't...Godverdamme I hate this. I can't think straight."

He lifted a hand to his face, his arm feeling like a dead weight as he dragged it towards him and jammed his thumb joint into his forehead as though somehow he might be able to press the thoughts in his mind into some kind of order.

"Shh," Christian said, his gentle strokes through Vincent's hair now faster as he worked to soothe Vincent. "Liefje, everything is going to be okay."

Vincent let out a long, low whine, but dropped his hand back to the sofa.

"No, Chris. I know. I'm just..." his voice weak and fractious in his own ear, and he hated this. Hated that he could do nothing but lay here, helpless, not even able to communicate his thoughts with any sort of coherence.

Deep breath, and he let it out slowly.

In front of him, Christian's phone once again resumed its insistent buzzing.

"In godsnaam, Christiaan, answer your fucking phone."

Christian's eyes went wide at Vincent's sudden outburst and he shifted back, a miniscule movement, but enough for Vincent to see he'd caught Christian off-guard.

"Yes," Christian said, voice soft and calm. "I'll just..."

He held up his phone then scooted away from the sofa, his hand leaving Vincent's hair and dragging across his cheek with the movement.

"Christiaan," Vincent said, calmer now, and Christian stopped.

"What, Vincent?"

"I'm...trying to say..." Vincent sighed and tried again. "Go to Toby's. Have dinner with your friends."

"But you're--"

"I'm tired and I don't feel good and I honestly just want to sleep for the next year and wake up and find out this was all a horrible dream."

"Oh, Liefje," Christian once again reached for him, but this time stopped short of his head and instead wrapped Vincent's hand up in his.

"No," Vincent said once more. "It's not...you don't have to stay. You shouldn't stay here and watch me sleep. Go out. Be with your friends. I'll be fine."

Christian shook his head, the movement making Vincent's head spin until he squeezed his eyes shut.

"The doctors said someone should stay with you. To make sure things are going alright with the pain medicine. You've already been sick from them, I don't want to leave you here alone."

Vincent let out another half-groan, half-whimper.

"Chris, I'll be alright. The worst of the sickness has passed and I'm just so tired. If you're worried about the floors, then leave the bin by the sofa. I'll call you if it gets really bad. Honestly, I'll probably just sleep the whole time and won't even notice you're away."

"It's not that, it's..." Christian trailed off. "I'd rather stay. I'll feel better if I stay."

"It's not..." Vincent sucked in another breath as he worked to unjumble the words on his tongue. "It's not that I don't want you here. I do. I don't know what I would have done today without you, but... you have your life, too. The dinners are important to you and with Toby's plans still uncertain..."

"I'll see them all tomorrow," Christian cut in, but Vincent shook his head, the movement once again setting everything to rocking and tipping.

"Go. There's no sense you sitting around here on a Friday night watching me sleep. Tell everyone I said 'hi' and good luck in tomorrow's match."

Christian didn't say anything for long moments, and Vincent had to fight to hang onto his consciousness in the heavy silence of the room.

"You'll call me?" Christian asked. "Anything at all, and you'll call me? I'm just up the street at Jan's, I can be back here in ten minutes."

"Go, Lieveke," Vincent said, forcing his eyes open once again so he could stare over at Christian. "I'll call you, I promise."

Another long silence, Christian worrying at his bottom lip, Vincent's hand still firmly clasped in his, and Vincent did his best to give it a feeble squeeze.

Eventually, Christian let out a strangled noise, then climbed to his feet. He shook out his legs a bit, first one, then the other, almost certainly trying to work the feeling back into them after spending the past several minutes sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

"Okay. I'll go. But just for dinner, I'm not staying for the board games or any of it. Two hours, tops, and then I'll be back."

He stepped away from the sofa, then lifted his phone, jabbed at the screen, and held it to his ear before ducking out of the room and into the hallway.

Vincent let his eyes fall closed once more, but he kept up his battle against the sleep that threatened to overtake him. He wanted to at least be awake to see Christian off, if he could.

Christian's half of the phone conversation drifted in through the door, his voice hushed and low. Vincent tuned in on it, trying to discern which of his friends Christian might be speaking with. It had been Toby who had kept up the insistent stream of phone calls and messages, but from the sounds of things, Christian was speaking to one of the others instead.

"...fine," Christian said. "He's...well, honestly I don't know. Physically it's...not good, but..."

A pause and then.

"Yes. But only for dinner. I don't want to be away longer than I have to."

"No. He's actually the one insisting that I go."

Vincent smiled at that, picturing the exasperated eye roll he could hear in Christian's voice.

"Yes. I hope you don't mind that I'm not exactly dressed for dinner. I just about managed to get a shower in earlier. Things have been...I'll tell you about it later."

Another long pause and then. "Right. Speak soon."

A second later, Christian slipped into the room. Vincent flicked his eyes open once more and gave him what he hoped was his most encouraging smile. "Go, Lieveke</em>. Have fun with your friends. You deserve it after today."

Christian laughed at this, then shook his head. "You're the one lying there sick and in pain and you're telling me I deserve a night out? You're really something."

Vincent tried to return the laugh, but all that came out was a weak cough. "Oh. I deserve several nights out, but I don't really think that's in the cards for me this evening. Anyway, it's the least I can do for you after probably destroying the interior of your car."

"Ugh," Christian said, wrinkling his nose at the memory of their harrowing drive home a few hours ago. "How could I have forgotten that? I can't go out. My car is..."

"You can take mine," Vincent said. "Keys are...somewhere. Fuck if I know."

He let his eyes slide shut once again, and Christian bent down and pressed another cool kiss to his forehead. "I'll find them. Sleep well. Call me if you need anything."

"I will, Christian. I promise. Just go. Have fun. Tell everyone I said hi."

Christian leaned into the kiss for a second, smooth lips pressing a wet mark into Vincent's skin, then ruffled a hand through Vincent's hair one last time, straightened up, and stepped back.

Vincent heard him rustling around in the corner of the room for a bit, presumably looking for Vincent's keys. He tried to break once more out of the grip of sleep, but it was clear he was about to lose the battle this time. He mumbled a sleepy "Ik hou van je." in Christian's direction, and slid into darkness before he heard Christian's reply.

[iamshadow21]

Questions and Answers: a conversation about privilege, fandom, representation, and boundaries

[takarazuka-rpf]

ITEIWAY 5

Disclaimer: This is an RPF (Real Person Fiction) meaning anything written here does not reflect the events in real life.

Chapter 5 Chigi: So today is the day. At 6 o'clock this morning, Chigi was woken up by a text from Mattsu saying that she had landed in Haneda airport and the address to her home. She hadn't seen Mattsu in nearly a year. The last time she saw her was backstage after a Caleb Hunt/Greatest Hits! showing. When Mattsu came and visited them, she had also bought her wife along with her. The staff and everyone in the revue that day kept that on the down-low because they wanted to protect the identity of Mattsu's wife and their relationship from prying eyes of fans. After Chigi had finished breakfast, which simply consisted of a bowl of cereal, she took a morning train to Tokyo where she will be having lunch with Mattsu in Mattsu's home. She didn't bother carrying too much with her as she's only out for the day (or so she thought). Therefore, grabbing her keys, purse and 2 bottles of champagne she bought for Mattsu and her wife, she headed out. By the time she got to Tokyo, it was already noon and Chigi is feeling her hunger more and more. If only Miyu was here with her home-cooking. Ah… she'd do anything to have that kind of luxury agai-  Nope, nope! She will not think about her. Today she will focus on catching up with Mattsu and having a good time. After taking a few deep breathes of the cold air, Chigi called a taxi and headed for Mattsu's address.  The Taxi driver must have seemed to recognise her because he kept on gazing her through his front mirror. Chigi wished that this driver would just confirm his recognition because it was kind of awkward the situation they are in now. Suddenly she hears a familiar voice through on the car radio.  Gosh, it seems like Chigi can never escape from that woman. It was Miyu singing the OST for her new drama series. Ironically, the lyrics seemed to be about forbidden and unrequited love. Chigi thinks the world must be playing a cruel joke on her.  Before she knew it, the driver turned up the radio and said, 'Ah, I've been obsessed with this song. Do you know her, Mister? Sakihi Miyu I mean?’  If the driver had recognised Chigi, he was obviously too dumb enough to not make the connection between herself and Miyu. And apparently also too dumb to get her gender wrong. 'She is this hot new actress you know? Very, very talented. Used to be a musumeyaku from that all-lady theatre company, a time wasted if you ask me, spending all those years with women only.' Chigi didn't like the way this conversation was going. 'Having said that, she has a great singing voice though and may I add a great figure too.' A smirk appeared on the man's face. Chigi is disgusted to see the man talking about Miyu in this way. The guy is practically drooling for goodness sake!  'Yep, I'm definitely a fan of hers alright!' The driver then let out a series of sounds that was a cross between a laugh and a snort. Chigi would describe him as a spitting image of a pig right now. He is obviously an old, perverted man who sees Miyu in a sexual way and Chigi did not like that one bit.  If it was legal to do so, she would have plunged a knife into the back of his neck by now. But thank god, the world had blessed her with self-control as she is now sitting back on her seat, taking deep breaths with her eyes closed, trying to enjoy Miyu's voice instead. 'Yep we're here. That'll be 950 yen please.’ Chigi said nothing and handed over the money to him. 'Mister, you don't really speak very much do you?' the driver joked. Chigi couldn't believe the nerves on this guy.  She opened the taxi door and said, 'no I don't. And for you information, I'm a woman.’ Just as Chigi was about to get out of the car, she caught the look on the driver's face. It was the face of dread and sudden realisation.  'Ta-ta-ka-ka-ra…,' the man had managed to utter out. 'Yes.' Is the only word Chigi said, before walking away with a smug look on her face.  Finally she could get some fresh air. But Chigi's mind suddenly went back to Miyu.  Is this the type of person Miyu has to deal with? What if someone like him approaches Miyu? What if someone like him ends up marrying her? All these questions started to invade Chigi thoughts but Chigi immediately shook her head trying to clear of them.  Miyu is not her responsibility anymore, actually what is she talking about, Miyu has never being her responsibility. Chigi believes that Miyu should be mature enough to realise that there are people like him out there and that she should avoid them. Chigi is also sure that there are probably people protecting Miyu as well. Chigi sighs. Not matter what, it seems like Chigi can't get Miyu out of her mind. But thankfully, Chigi still remembers what she is here for though. She found her way to Mattsu's address, which didn't take too long, and pressed the doorbell. Maybe being in Mattsu's presence will make her forget about Miyu's presence for a few hours.  She couldn't be more wrong.

Being early November, the days are chilly and windy and unfortunately for Chigi she hated it because she hated the cold. After ringing Mattsu's doorbell a few moments ago, she had been shivering outside Mattsu's Tokyo home waiting for Mattsu to come down and get her.  By-passers had been giving her a look as if to say 'why is this person waiting outside in the cold like this?' Chigi just hoped none of them were Takarazuka fans. She tucked her hands into her coat pocket and started to fiddle with the keyring inside which was attached to her keys.  As she traced its snow-shaped outline with her fingers, she felt warmth rise within her as this keyring had always been a source of comfort. It reminded her of home. Then next to her, the door suddenly opened. 'Chigi!! Nice to see you again!' Mattsu gave Chigi a hug and as she spoke, steam was coming out of her mouth. 'Sorry for the long wait. I was just unpacking. Come on in, you must be freezing.’ 'Hell yeah I am,' with this Chigi slipped into the door and into the warm, cosy home of Mattsu's. Once the door was closed, Chigi turned around and said, 'Mattsu! Long-time no see, how have you been? How's business in England?' She was glad to see her friend again. 'Yes indeed! I've been doing pretty well and my business is doing alright too. Haha enough to pay the bills. How about you though, how's post-taka life treating you? Wait let's go and sit down on the sofa.’ As they sat down, Mattsu's wife came out from the kitchen with a tray of tea. 'Chigi-san! How are you? Actually, no time to talk. I'm in a rush to go to a meeting so I'll see you and Mattsu in a few hours. The lunch is ready in the kitchen so feel free you eat it when you two are ready.' Said Mrs Mattsu. 'Ehhhh? Are you not going to eat with us? I haven't even properly said hello yet.' Exclaimed Chigi. 'No no it's ok, eat without me. Anyway I have some business to attend to so I'll need to get going now.' With that she bent down to peck Mattsu on the lips and left the house.  'Gosh you wife seems so busy. Within hours of landing in Japan and she has a meeting to attend to? Woah I'm impressed.' Said Chigi while sipping the tea Mrs Mattsu brought out.  'Haha yeah, well it can't be helped. She has a company of her own and there things needing to be sorted out by her.’ 'I'm sure you guys earn more than enough to 'just pay the bills' right?' Said Chigi while giving Mattsu a knowing smile. 'We're doing ok I guess.' Chigi can see that Mattsu is being modest but this is one of the traits Chigi liked about her.  'Anyway are you hungry? Let's move to the kitchen.' The two got up and sat opposite each other on the kitchen table which was filled with delicious food already prepared for them.  Looks like Mattsu got herself a wife who can cook! 'So Chigi, how about you. What is your work situation like?’ 'Well,' said Chigi with a mouth full of rice, 'I'm currently a teacher at the middle school I used to go to. It's just a temporary one though. I need to buy myself some time to think over some stuff.’ 'Such as?’ 'You know, if I want to carry on in the entertainment industry or not… if I want to start a family of m-’  'You mean love life?' Mattsu interrupted. Chigi nearly chocked on her rice. Mattsu's straight-forward personality hasn't changed one bit, as well as her love to gossip. Having said this, this is the subject Chigi had wanted to talk about.  Mattsu is the only person (other than Tomomin, who is on holiday in Hawaii right now) whom she feels comfortable enough to open up to. The main reason for this, is because she and Mattsu shared the same interest, which is the fairer sex, in other words, women.  'Ye-yeah well, including that too.' Mattsu nodded to Chigi's words. 'So how's Miyu doing?' Chigi nearly chocked again. Gosh this woman can read her like an open book. 'Last time I heard, she's doing pretty well. Actually, can we not talk about h-’ 'So I presume you guys are still 'friends'?’  'Of course. We've always been friends.' Looks like Mattsu isn't going to let them get out of the subject of Miyu.  There was a slight pause and Mattsu said, 'Miyu is doing pretty well for herself isn't she? On the way home in the car, I saw at least 10 different advertisements with her face on.’ 'Yeah she is. I'm glad for her, really, I knew that kid would go far.' Chigi said with a little proudness in her heart. Mattsu gave an understanding nod again. 'Hmm ok. So anyway, when are you thinking of confessing to her?’ Chigi chocked again. Seriously, eating while having a conversion with Mattsu is a dangerous game. 'I'm not.' Chigi simply said. 'What do you mean 'I'm not'? You guys can literally blind a dog if it was alone in a room with you two. It's physically painfully for me to see two people in love and not tell each other’ Chigi sighs, 'How many times do I have to say it. Miyu doesn't think of me in that way, at least not anymore. I'm a woman and she is straight, full stop. No one can change those facts.' A pause followed and then Chigi carried on, 'and let's not forget, remember the backlash you faced when you confessed you love for a woman.' Chigi knew this was a sore subject for Mattsu but she continued on anyway. 'I can handle it but Miyu, Miyu has a whole career in front of her and I refuse to be the one to ruin that.' There was a pause again. 'Chigi. I'm going to say something here and I don't want you to interrupt until I finish ok?' Chigi wanted to protest but gave up and nodded instead. Mattsu carried on, 'I can bet on my life that Yuumi-chan feels the same way about you as you feel about her.’    Chigi scoffed. As if! 'Eventhough, I've only seen you two together a few times before, but it is more than obvious to me how she feels about you. The way she looks at you, the way she speaks to you, the way she acts around yo-‘ 'Well isn't that how every musumeyaku acts with their top-san. With heart eyes and an overwhelming sense to serve them?' Chigi had to interrupt here. 'Indeed but with Miyu it's different! Miyu sees you as a woman. She sees you for who you truly are. And she likes for who you truly are.’    'You can't possibly know that, you hardly know her!’ 'But you do! You know her better than anyone. And the fact that you can't see she is madly in love with you is beyond mine or anyone's comprehension!’  There was a moment of silence after this and Mattsu continued on softly, 'I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I can see that you're suffering. Miyu is probably somewhere suffering as well. Sometimes I think your stubbornness is too much for your own good.’    Chigi let out a puff. At this moment in time, Mattsu looks like a mother trying to talk sense into her 5 year old child.  'Are you going to see her anytime soon?’ Chigi wondered if she should tell Mattsu or not but decided to anyway because it won't make any difference to this current situation 'Yes in a few weeks' time. We're meeting up for a meal.’ 'Well, you still have some time to decide what you want to do then,' said Mattsu finally taking a bite of her own food. Mattsu was right, indeed Chigi has a lot of time. But she has already decided though. She is determined to keep everything just as they are and continue to avoid any more questions or topic conversations to do with Miyu.

[kikumerio]

dear yuletide author

dear yuletide author,

first of all, i'm so sorry this ended up so late, and thank you very much for your patience! without further ado:

my single most important consideration is that you write something you're excited to write – that's where all the best yuletide fic comes from, anyway! – so just remember that you should feel free to disregard any and all of the following if you're not feeling it. i mean this, some of the best exchange gifts i've ever gotten have been passion projects that had nothing to do with anything i would have thought of to put in a letter. but if you're looking for somewhere to start brainstorming--

stuff i like in general: loyalty, small gestures that speak loudly, unspoken feelings, loyalty, tropes, meta-tropes, and loyalty. my other internet footprint is at @snowshoe if you're looking to get a sense of me outside of, um, sports anime.

frontier wolf: i am alllll about alexios/hilarion, for reasons above, but if you're not into slash, i'm very into that intense platonic dynamic ("the Sutcliff", if you will) as well. i could read 431843904 takes on post-series fic and never get tired of it – oh wait, i have! – or ditto for hilarion's backstory if you want to focus on just one of the two of them. (which is fine with me.) i would also love to read place fic – whether that place is valentia or belgica is up to you – and/or winter fic. i really admire how well Sutcliff fandom does both of those things, so if you are looking for a chance to dig into the setting… here it is.

i don't usually think in terms of AUs in this fandom but if you have an exciting idea my ears are open! (the one exception is – bear with me here, this is weirdly specific – years ago i read carmarthen's eagle of the ninth historical reenactment au and immediately thought, wow, what is the crew from frontier wolf up to in this 'verse, how on earth did alexios RUIN AN SCA CHAPTER. i don't know enough about reenactment to do this convincingly myself but if you do…) (please don't feel you have to do this.)

note: this section is shorter than the others not because i'm less excited about it but because the source material more strongly for itself, and the fandom has more recent activity (i.e., it actually exists). i trust you already. :)

here is greenwood/koko wa greenwood: god, it's been so long! i check this tag every so often in the vain hope someone out there is thinking about this, so if we matched on this, know you are making my year.

the mitsuru/shinobu dynamic – i could write ten thousand words on this. i ship it, of course, but it's not exclusively a ship thing. for a Wacky Boarding School Hijinx comedy manga, the extent to which mitsuru… saves… shinobu… is so poignant. (the apartment rental scene, end me.) that's one of the things i really love about greenwood as a whole, that juxtaposition of increasingly wild settings and schemes with bits of emotion played straight that resonate even more because of it. romantic or platonic – it almost doesn't matter – mitsuru's importance to shinobu is so critical. (and that is the axis i tend to get hung up on so if you want to write about the role shinobu plays for mitsuru, please! because there is plenty to chew on there.) the way shinobu is so incredibly sure that this "shelter from the rain" can't last, and that that's never explicitly countered in the manga but the note it goes out on is, they're going on to university together, so… maybe. maybe.

breathes. having said that, outside of that black hole of feelings, i'm also super interested in the tezuka family and associates in general. the dynamic between shinobu and noriko is so fascinating, and hasn't been explored too much. i would read a deep dive into their relationship – platonic, sexual, probably pretty messed up no matter what – in a heartbeat. i just deleted a whole paragraph about how greenwood is a metaphor for japanese society during the bubble economy, so i'll just say: the manga ended the year the bubble burst. greenwood meets the 90s, i'd read it.

i just wrote um a lot about mostly shinobu, but of course the charm of greenwood is the clown car ensemble cast, and dorm hijinks or reunion hijinks (greenwood dousoukai!) or a typical Scheme gone awry – or all too right? – would be absolutely delightful. seriously, you cannot possibly go wrong in this fandom. now brb gotta go listen to "amayadori" another twenty thousand times.

haikyuu stage rpf: i nominated this and i have the sneaking feeling i am the only person who requested or offered it, so if we matched on this (or if you're browsing pinch hits and this interests you), please PLEASE let's be friends. but desperate appeals aside.

i nommed kazuma, kouhei, hiroki, and keita. but like. you can write whoever you want to. (kenta, tatsunari, takato, shouri, the dear departed hirata yuuya, literally anyone.) i ship: kazuma/kouhei, keita/hiroki, yuuya/kousuke (leave me alone), takato/shouri, ryousuke/kairi, etc ad infinitum. i platonically ship kenta/tatsunari, like, they are not best friends but they clearly trust and respect each other so much? claws at the carpet. (if you wanted to take it to a non-platonic place, be my guest, it's so pure i can't do it in my head, but i trust you.)

kazuma/kouhei: i mean! look at them! they mean so much to each other! kouhei made kazuma cry during curtain calls. literally every hajimari no kyojin interview/blog post/whatever is about how amazing kazuma is and how supportive kouhei is. kouhei's band, in which kazuma guests so often he's called a "regular". plus, it's a classic beauty and the bro dynamic.

keita/hiroki: it is one of the great tragedies of my life that hiroki left the cast JUST AS keita came back. like. @ god, why. this ship is definitely uhhhh based on my deep social media analysis that ino hiroki is super thirsty. and, i mean, who could blame him! they went on overnight onsen trips. i'm just saying. (my headcanon is also that kazuma is Into It, "it" being the sheer aesthetic perfection of tanaka keita, on a physical level. then he started all these mushy emotional Feelings about kouhei, what the shit, kouhei's not even his type!! …hi.)

AUs: any of them. all of them. please. go wild.

i run a haikyuu stage tumblr with a bunch of interview translations and event reports and uploads over at @shoushatohaisha, if you need some material. i'm going to try and get the hajimari no kyojin stuff, which is where kazuma really comes into his own, up as soon as i get my dvd, and i have assorted hnk reports and translations up already.

*

thank you, again, for your patience in waiting for this letter, and for writing any of these three incredibly rare fandoms. i am so, so excited to read whatever you write!

[asylum-miniatures]

GM Notes - Session 19, Part 3

So as RPF said, by the end of the session previously we have had a change up in the lineup. Yurians player felt that as a character there would be no going back from what happened and that she (the character) would not be able to work with that team anymore. It's also worth noting that in game she and Sim are lovers (they are out of game too but it's not invasive on the story) so Sim would also not be able to stay with the party. OOC I think that Yurians player was also feeling that they may have made a mistake being the face character and that as far as combat was concerned she was not exactly ideal. She had started with no real combat feats or powers, and while this would have been okay, the last session kind of showed that the party was very combat heavy and she didn't really fit. Especially if they weren't even going to listen when she was doing her talking. So I wrote them out of the story and introduced their new characters when it was convenient. Secondly - I had noticed that the players - even after months of gaming together - are still a little bit independent, rather than working as a team. So I had a mean idea - to run the aforementioned kill house scenario.

Learning new skills... like STEALTH! GM draws the outside, tells us to place our miniatures outside and everything from this moment is in character. Hey at least I said it out loud and you obviously heard it We start planning, I’ll be upfront checking the door for traps, Yolan and Telon behind me ready to storm the door, Vex follows after and draspher and Ocelot at back. However, the GM decided to be a jerk about it. You were literally stood by the door, talking in your normal voices about where to stand. At this point I had already had you roll initiative and I was rolling dice while you were discussing - as it happens, perception rolls for the guys inside to hear you. You very helpfully told me exactly where you were standing and in what order While I dodge for half damage, Yolan and Telon end up taking the full force of 78, nearly killing them outright. I only took half and I still took 39 damage, leaving me at a scant 9hp while Telon had 1hp left and Yolan is 4 from absolute death. That woke you up didn't it drasphers first instinct is to bomb the house, recognising there must be around three guys at least behind the door. Good perception check... He finally decides to check if he can help Yolan and Telon, but his roll of 2 convinces him there dead. Terrible heal check... Ocelot then starts trying the shutters, as carefully as possible. Finding he can open them and that there’s no-one on the other side, he takes aim and starts shooting the floor where one of the upstairs gunmen must be. He has no idea if it hits him or not, but I like his thought process. ... draspher meanwhile comes up with one of his plans. This should be good... He runs up to building while using ghost sounds to create the sound of a fireball hitting the side of the building and screaming “desert dragon”. As with Ocelots plan - good in theory but essentially blind firing without knowing effect. From a DM point of view - the first wave of attacks was designed to cause panic and confusion in the team. By the time they had taken these actions the 'enemy' NPC's had already faded back into the building to another ambush point. I was banking on the idea that they would immediately regroup and abandon stealth and charge the building. Straight into another setup ambush. As it was it didn't happen quite that way but: draspher finishes his spell and sends a several ton white rhino stampeding through the remains of the door and the surrounding wall, missing one gunman by the skin of his teeth while trampling and burying one in rubble, before it smashes through the next wall. Effective - but very heavy on the collateral damage. Still can't deny the effects and... Meanwhile in the next room the other two gunmen both unload everything they have on the rhino, reducing it to bloody Swiss cheese Two of the guys had made it to the fallback position and shot the thing to pieces. But it meant that at least it triggered the ambush. Unfortunately they couldn't capitalise on it before they were able to reload their weapons. The NPC's in the house (at least those two) took a full round action to reload And then: ...draspher steps out from cover,... To be fair I think he was expecting to OHKO the guy with the fireball. It's been and remains his go to spell for doing damage. What he didn't expect it that the guy made the reflex save so instead of 27 damage he only took half. And the guy very calmly took his pistol and full round attacked back at the mage who even at level 8 still has an AC of 15... And critted...   twice... In the GM’s own words, “the situation is F.U.B.A.R”, so I resort to Jaunes all purpose backup plan, and I make for one of the windows. Sigh... A hand reaches out and grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me back in. It’s Ninja-San, who just shakes his head and angrily/disappointedly states “you fail” before activating fireworks signalling the end of the exercise. Now I had planned that if 3 out of 6 went 'down' that they would fail the exercise. As it was Jaune trying to 'escape' I just took as leaving the area of battle and going AWOL so I treated it as being downed. I've got to be honest - yes I was being mean - but at no point did I fudge in my favour and I didn't railroad anything. Other than stopping Jaune from making a break for it. The point was to teach my players a lesson about teamwork, and I hope the lesson sank in a little bit. I read a couple of other source books from other games about SWAT team tactics in order to coordinate them and it worked really well - perhaps too well...